The forest was silent when I found her.
Not peaceful. Not still. But watchful. The trees stood like sentinels, their gnarled roots coiled across the damp earth, their branches clawing at the bruised sky. Rain dripped from the canopy in slow, steady drops, each one echoing like a heartbeat in the unnatural quiet. The cursed wood had turned inward, feeding on tension, on grief, on the raw, unspoken truth that now hung between us like a blade.
Athena stood at the edge of a shallow ravine, her back to me, arms wrapped tight around herself. Her dark hair was loose, tangled with leaves and damp from the storm, falling over her shoulders in wild waves. She didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, staring into the darkness below, as if searching for something she’d lost.
Or someone.
I didn’t approach. Not yet. I stood at a distance, my boots silent on the moss, my breath slow and controlled. My fangs still ached—residual hunger from the bond fever, from the near-kiss in the hollow, from the way her body had arched into mine, offering itself without words. But it wasn’t just desire. It was something deeper. Something dangerous.
I wanted her.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
But because she was her. Fierce. Broken. Brilliant. A woman who had come to destroy me, and instead had begun to unravel me.
And now—now she knew about the locket.
Now she knew about the promise.
Now she knew that I had loved Cassia—not as a lover, not as a mate—but as family. As the sister I never had. As the one person who had seen me not as a monster, not as a warlord, but as a man who was tired of carrying the weight of the world alone.
And I had failed her.
And now Athena stood at the edge of a ravine, trembling, and I didn’t know if she would jump—or if she would finally believe me.
“You followed me,” she said, voice low, steady. Not a question.
“I wasn’t going to let you wander alone in a cursed forest,” I replied, stepping forward. “You’d be dead by morning.”
“Maybe that’s what I want.”
My chest tightened. “Don’t say that.”
She turned then, slowly, her dark eyes burning in the dim light. Rain slicked her skin, traced the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. Her lips were pale, pressed into a thin line. In her hand—clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white—was the locket. Cassia’s face still visible through the cracked glass.
“You kept this,” she said, voice breaking. “All this time. You wore it every night. You whispered to it. You *cried* for her.”
“I did.”
“And you never told me.”
“Would you have believed me if I had?”
She flinched. “That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it?” I stepped closer, my voice low. “You came here to kill me. You’ve spent five years building a case, gathering evidence, sharpening your hatred. And now—now you find out that I didn’t murder your sister. That I tried to save her. That I’ve carried her memory like a wound. And you’re angry because I didn’t tell you sooner?”
“I’m angry because you let her die!” she snapped, her voice cracking. “You were there. You had power. You could’ve stopped it. You could’ve—”
“And then they would’ve come for you,” I cut in, stepping forward, my voice rising. “Malrik wanted her dead to get to you. She knew it. That’s why she came to me. That’s why she begged me to protect you. And if I had interfered—if I had exposed myself as her ally—they would’ve executed her faster, and then they would’ve hunted you down like an animal. So I let her burn. To keep you alive.”
She stared at me, her breath coming fast, her chest rising and falling. Tears welled in her eyes—but not from sadness. From rage. From grief. From the sheer, *injustice* of it all.
“You don’t get to decide that,” she whispered. “You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies.”
“I didn’t,” I said, voice raw. “I chose *you*. I chose to keep *you* safe. Even if it meant letting her go. Even if it meant carrying that guilt for the rest of my existence.”
She shook her head. “You don’t get to play the hero. You don’t get to wear her locket and say you didn’t love her. You don’t get to—”
“I didn’t love her,” I said, stepping closer, my voice low, fierce. “Not like that. She was like a sister to me. A ward. A friend. I protected her because she was innocent. Because she was *yours*. Because she asked me to. And I failed her. But I won’t fail you.”
She didn’t answer.
Just stared at me, her eyes wide, unreadable. The bond flared between us—hot, deep, a pulse of emotion that wasn’t mine. Grief. Guilt. Need.
And then—
“Then why was she executed in your court?” she asked, voice sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Why was it your name on the decree? Why did you stand there and watch her burn?”
I stilled.
Because that—that was the truth I hadn’t told her.
The secret I had buried beneath centuries of lies.
The one thing I had sworn never to speak.
And now, in the heart of a cursed forest, with the woman I was bound to staring at me with tears in her eyes, I knew I had no choice.
“Because I had to,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “Because if I hadn’t signed the decree, Malrik would’ve known I was protecting her. He would’ve known I was weak. And he would’ve come for you that night. So I signed it. I stood there. I watched her burn. And I let the world believe I was the monster they thought I was—so that you could live.”
She didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Just stood there, the locket trembling in her hand, her face pale, her lips parted.
“You’re saying,” she whispered, “that you let them think you killed her… to protect me?”
“Yes.”
“And no one knew?”
“No one.”
“Not even Silas?”
“Not even him.”
She took a step back. Then another. Her breath came faster. Her hands trembled. The locket slipped from her fingers, falling into the ravine below. We both watched it disappear into the darkness.
“You expect me to believe that?” she said, voice breaking. “You expect me to believe that you—Kaelen Duskbane, the warlord who has crushed rebellions without blinking—you would sacrifice your own honor, your own name, your own *soul*… for *me*?”
“I didn’t do it for you,” I said, stepping forward. “I did it for *her*. She asked me to protect you. And I promised. And I keep my promises.”
She laughed—bitter, broken. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to play the noble protector. You don’t get to—”
“I don’t want your gratitude,” I snapped, closing the distance between us. “I don’t want your forgiveness. I don’t even want you to believe me. I just want you to *live*. I want you to wake up every morning and curse my name if you have to. I want you to fight me, hate me, try to kill me again. But I want you *alive*. Because if you die, I die with you. Not because of the bond. Not because of the magic. But because I can’t survive losing another person I care about.”
She froze.
Her breath caught.
And then—
“You care about me?” she whispered.
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Because the truth was—I did.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of fate.
But because she was *her*. Because she had walked into my keep as a spy, a killer, a woman bent on vengeance—and had stayed. Because she had called me a coward and still let me touch her. Because she had seen the monster in me and hadn’t flinched.
And because, gods help me, I was falling in love with her.
But I couldn’t say it.
Not yet.
Not when she still didn’t believe me.
Not when she still didn’t trust me.
So I just looked at her—really looked at her—and said the only thing I could.
“You think I’d let her die?” I asked, voice raw. “You think I’d stand by and watch an innocent woman burn if I could stop it? You think I’m that much of a monster?”
She didn’t answer.
Just stared at me, her eyes wide, searching.
And then—
The bond flared.
Not with desire. Not with heat.
With truth.
A deep, resonant pulse beneath my skin, a wave of emotion that wasn’t mine. Grief. Guilt. Love.
And she felt it too.
Her breath hitched. Her pupils dilated. Her scent spiked—musk and salt and something sweet, like crushed juniper berries. She stepped back, just slightly, her shoulder brushing the trunk of a tree.
And that was all it took.
I moved.
One step. Then another. Silent. Predatory. Until I was close—too close. Close enough to feel the heat of her body, to see the pulse in her throat, to smell the faint sweat gathering at the base of her neck.
“You don’t believe me,” I said, voice low, rough.
“I don’t know what to believe,” she whispered.
“Then let me show you.”
I reached into my coat, pulling out a small, leather-bound journal—aged, worn, the edges frayed. Cassia’s. The one she had given me the night before her execution. The one I had kept hidden for five years. The one no one had ever seen.
“This is hers,” I said, holding it out. “She wrote it in the days before they took her. Everything she knew about Malrik. About the Blood Tribunal. About the conspiracy. And about you.”
Athena didn’t move. Didn’t reach for it.
Just stared at the journal, her breath coming faster.
“Open it,” I said. “Read it. See for yourself.”
Slowly, she took it. Her fingers trembled as she flipped open the cover. The first page was filled with her sister’s handwriting—elegant, looping, familiar. And at the top, a single line, underlined:
“If you’re reading this, I’m already dead. And Kaelen is the only one who believed me.”
Athena’s breath caught.
Her eyes filled with tears.
And then—
She dropped the journal.
It fell into the ravine, disappearing into the darkness.
“You don’t get to do this,” she said, voice breaking. “You don’t get to give me her words. You don’t get to show me her truth. You don’t get to—”
“I’m not trying to earn your forgiveness,” I said, stepping closer. “I’m not trying to win you over. I’m just trying to keep you alive. And if that means you hate me for the rest of your life, then so be it.”
She didn’t answer.
Just stood there, her chest heaving, her eyes burning.
And then—
She slapped me.
Not hard. Not cruel. But sharp. A crack in the silence. My head snapped to the side. I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
“You don’t get to protect me,” she said, voice trembling. “You don’t get to decide what I know. You don’t get to—”
“I do,” I said, turning back to her. “Because I’m the only one who’s not afraid of what we are.”
She stared at me. Then—anger. Hot, fierce, beautiful.
And then—
She turned and walked away.
I didn’t stop her.
I couldn’t.
Because for the first time in four hundred years—
I was afraid.
Afraid she might believe me.
Afraid she might not.
Afraid that if she did, I’d lose her anyway.
The forest was silent.
The fire between us?
It wasn’t just beginning.
It was consuming us.
And I didn’t know if we’d survive it.
But I would try.
Even if it killed me.
Even if she never loved me back.
Even if she never stopped hating me.
I would fight for her.
Because Athena wasn’t just my fated mate.
She was my redemption.
And I would not lose her.
Fanged Contract: Athena’s Vow
The first time Athena sees Kaelen Duskbane, he’s standing over a blood-smeared altar, his fangs bared in a ritual she wasn’t meant to witness. She hides in the shadows of Blackthorne Keep, heart pounding, not just from fear—but from the *pull*, the raw, electric snap of a fated bond that shouldn’t exist. She came to **burn him**, not *bond* with him.
But the ancient magic doesn’t care about revenge. It *claims*.
Now, to stop a war between vampire houses and fae courts, the Supernatural Council forces them into a **one-year political marriage**—a fanged contract sealed with blood and a public kiss that leaves her trembling, her body betraying her with heat and need. Kaelen, cold and merciless, sees her as a pawn. But the way his fingers linger on her wrist, the way his gaze burns when she wears red silk, tells a different story.
Athena is no fool. She knows the game. She’ll play the devoted wife while she digs for proof of his guilt. But every touch, every shared breath, every night spent in the same bed without crossing the line—erodes her resolve. And when the seductive vampire mistress **Lirien** appears, flaunting Kaelen’s bite mark and whispering that he once begged her to stay, Athena’s jealousy ignites like wildfire.
By Chapter 9, a mission gone wrong strands them in a cursed forest, where bond fever forces them to the edge of surrender—until Athena sees a locket with her sister’s face around his neck. **Is he the killer… or was he protecting her?**
The truth will destroy everything. And desire may be the only thing that can save them.